


world torn asunder

by heartofstanding



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: (brief) - Freeform, Aftermath, Angst, Battle of Agincourt, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: After the Battle of Agincourt, Henry V visits his wounded brother.
Relationships: Henry V of England & Humphrey of Lancaster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	world torn asunder

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as part of a longer piece in April 2018 and then revised and tweaked in October this year. The longer piece... needs a lot more work and may never see the light of day as it's written. This isn't meant to be seen as a fully fleshed out exploration of Henry V's experience of Agincourt but Humphrey's wounding though I'd like to write that one day.

**25 October 1415**

Hal looks at the bloody field, the bodies stripped and piled, the men-at-arms’ armour splattered with blood and mud, the archers searching for their spent arrows, the churned-up earth. He thinks, _I did this _and feels a curiously cold sort of numbness. Something beyond horror, grief and triumph.

His boots sink into the mud. He turns and reaches for the arm of his bodyguard, uses it to steady himself as he searches for sturdier ground. His legs are weak, knees shaking, and his feet stumbling. He wants to fall to his knees and pray, he wants to lie down and sleep, he wants to curl beside his brothers and wait for their mother to come and kiss them goodnight. But he is the king, he has duties he must perform and cannot simply do as he wishes. He must oversee the arrangements for their journey to Calais, speak to the prisoners and make sure they understand their rights. He must, he must, he must.

The guard lays a hand on his shoulder.

‘Where is my brother?’ Hal asks. It is the easiest question he can think of.

His brother, the only one of his brothers with him. His youngest brother. Humphrey. His brother injured and dragged from the field he would have never set foot on had it not been for Hal.

‘I don’t know, your grace,’ the guard says.

Hal closes his eyes. ‘Find out. I will see him after.’

*

_After _is long after night has fallen and unsurprisingly, Humphrey is asleep, his face a pale circle. The room they have lodged him in is little, made of timber, but there is a brazier burning and a few candles by the pallet Humphrey is sleeping on. His body is oddly posed, as if the doctor laid him on the bed, covered him with blankets and then folded his hands neatly over his belly.

Before the sun rose Hal thought, _everything is in God’s hands now _and had been comforted by that. When the fighting had begun Hal thought, _I will die today _and hadn’t felt anything beyond mild regret. But then he saw Humphrey fall.

A dim shape crumpling in the corner of his eye and a splatter of blood like the brightest of autumn leaves. There was a French soldier above Humphrey, shifting from a lance to a war-axe, about to crush his helm. Hal hadn’t thought, just moved. Fought even when a blow forced him to his knees and he could taste blood, see stars’ fires burning in his eyes and heard nothing but Humphrey’s scream_. _Thought then they would both die in the mud, on the ground.

They hadn’t. Hal’s guard came, Humphrey was taken to safety, and victory was theirs, hard-won, bitter and fragile, but theirs.

Hal reaches for Humphrey’s hand, sees his own shaking. Pulls it back and runs his fingers over the bandaged cut. He has no right to touch Humphrey. He took Humphrey into danger and hadn’t been able to stop the blade that bled him. _I did this, _he thinks, and finds the most tender part and presses down hard enough that the scab gives way and the cut bleeds again.

He has lost too much already and for so little. He cannot lose Humphrey.

*

Is this what their father felt, the night he spent watching Hal sleep after Shrewsbury? No, Hal decides as he watches Humphrey sleep. Henry sent him to Kenilworth to die and when he didn’t, Henry could barely stand to look at him for a year. Hal doesn’t want to leave Humphrey’s side, though he will have to when the dawn comes.

Humphrey looks young, too young for warfare though he turned twenty-five the day after Sir John Phelip died and the day before they left Harfleur. When Humphrey was just born, their mother laid him in Hal’s arms and told him, _he’s not very well, love, he needs extra care_ and Harry nodded and said, _I’ll look after him, promise. _

And now Humphrey was wounded while in Hal’s care. If not been for Hal, Humphrey would be in England, laughing and buying more books than he can read, not lying in bed, wounded and far too pale. But he will recover. The reports from the doctors Hal has been sent are good – and they know better than to lie and give him false hope. Humphrey will recover and he will not understand if Hal tries to keep him away from the war.

He takes Humphrey’s hand and holds it carefully.

*

‘I will stay,’ Hal says when the doctor comes to check on Humphrey’s wound.

The doctor hesitates but nods. He folds back the blankets and peels the bloodied bandage away from Humphrey’s groin. Humphrey groans but doesn’t wake, his eyelids fluttering – they gave him poppy for the pain, the doctor says.

Hal does not look away when the last of the bandage is removed and the remains of a poultice are wiped away. Hal has to see what he has done. The wound is a violently red gash high on Humphrey’s thigh, stitched together with black thread, and seems so lurid that Hal wants to vomit. The flesh around it is red too, sure to bruise, and the rest of Humphrey’s skin is corpse white.

‘It’s too early to tell how well it’s healing, your grace,’ the doctor says. ‘But I’ll clean it now.’

Hal nods and his eyes stay on the doctor as he begins to clean the wound, using boiled wine and herbs. Humphrey twitches violently and then outright whimpers. Hal has seen his brother sick throughout the years but never like this. His body surges trying to get away, hands turning to claws as he tries to stop the doctor. Hal catches Humphrey’s wrists, holds them one-handed.

‘Humphrey, be still,’ he orders. ‘It hurts, I know, but it’s for the best.’

Humphrey seems to try and obey him; at least he doesn’t struggle anymore. But his breath comes faster and faster, a high-pitched, wheezing pant. His eyes open, dark and glazed, and they try to fix on Harry’s face but they keep sliding away.

‘H – Harry?’

‘I’m here.’

Hal rests his free hand on Humphrey’s brow, pushing back his hair. Humphrey’s fingers curl again, his body jerking, and Hal looks back at the doctor who is patting the wound dry.

‘Don’t – don’t look. Harry, _please_.’

Harry wonders if he should tell Humphrey he has already seen but the doctor begins to dress the wound in honey and Humphrey’s jaw locks tight. When at last the doctor is finished, a clean bandage in place, Humphrey’s breath begins to steady a little. Hal lets go of his wrists.

The doctor leaves, speaking quietly to Humphrey’s attendants and promising to return. Hal sits down beside the pallet, straightening the blankets over Humphrey again.

‘You look awful,’ Humphrey says. He raises one limp arm and cold fingers brush over the top of Hal’s brow. ‘Big bruise here. And your hand’s bleeding.’

There’s fresh blood on the bandage over Hal’s hand.

‘I’m more concerned about you.’

Humphrey shrugs, eyelids drooping. ‘Will – will you stay?’

‘I was planning on it,’ Hal says.

Humphrey’s lips curve and Hal shifts, stretching out beside the pallet. He is so tired. He wonders how much Humphrey will remember in the morning – Hal’s memories of the time after Shrewsbury are misshapen, great slabs of time missing. He doesn’t remember the pain – it was too bright, too enormous, too sharp – but he remembered how agony and despair entwine, how he wished to die and found only relief in the potions they pressed on him. He knows Richard Courtenay visited him for two months but the only thing he remembers of it is begging Courtenay in a low voice to kill him, and Courtenay’s sharp, panicked denial, his hands warm against Henry’s jaw, the taste of his tears. Courtenay is dead now, York and many more poor souls too. 

But Hal still lives.

‘I am proud of you,’ he says, to Humphrey. ‘You fought well today. You were very brave. And I am glad you are safe now.’

Humphrey says nothing, and when Henry looks down, he sees Humphrey is asleep again. He smiles despite himself and lays himself out on the floor beside Humphrey’s pallet. Outside, the rain starts up again.

**Author's Note:**

> Humphrey was wounded in the "hams" or groin at the Battle of Agincourt. The accounts of his injury suggest that he was facing the enemy when it happened and apparently it was severe enough that Humphrey was unable to leave Calais with Henry V and missed attending the triumphal entry into London. 
> 
> I fully admit to basically bluffing my way through the treatment and appearance of Humphrey's wound since I'm not a doctor and most resources I could easily find on groin injuries didn't really match. The treatment and cleaning is based off John Bradmore's account of treating Henry V's Shrewsbury arrow-wound.
> 
> Books that were helpful: Juliet Barker's _Agincourt: The King, The Campaign, The Battle_ (Abacus, 2015), Anne Curry's _Great Battles: Agincourt_ (Oxford University Press, 2015) and _1415 Agincourt: A New History_ (The History Press, 2015), Michael Jones's _24 Hours at Agincourt_ (WH Allen, 2015).


End file.
